


The Art of Pleasure

by OrphanText



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cake, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft enjoys a piece of white butter cream cake. Lestrade quietly has a small crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Because my beta likes Mystrade, and because Mycroft and cake is legit. I'm also bored. Unbeta-ed. Also, he's eating a piece of white butter cake here. Depending on what sort of person you are, you might either get really turned on, or get put off cake for a week.

Just as putting a cake together is an art, so is eating one. 

Mycroft took his time, allowing his eyes to rest upon the piece of white cake before him, innocent and delicate in its white icing, except for where the bold red of the strawberry broke its delicate white, but he believes that it lends the cake character, anyway. He picked up a fork, and carefully, cut into the piece of confectionery with the side of the tines, suppressing a moan as he felt the cake give beneath, so soft, and so moist, and so impossibly sweet. He took extreme care, as always. The first cut was always the most important. Too much, and one would be unable to savour the cake fully, too little, and it would be disappointing. Besides, judged wrongly, the cake might just collapse upon itself. It was all in all, a very delicate business. Just as carefully, he speared the small piece that he had cut off onto his fork, lifting it up to his mouth where he unsubtly took a deep breath, taking in the scent of creamy rich decadence before allowing himself to daintily, very carefully, take a small bite.

As expected, it hit all the right notes with him, and he couldn't help but moan quietly, eyes fluttering close in quiet enjoyment. It was unusual for him to as uninhibited as he was right now, but just because he was the British Government, it didn't mean that he was on the duty for twenty four hours every day and seven days a week, and he always made it an exceptional case if and when he rewarded himself for a job well done or a diet kept to with a thin slice of cake. Fresh, moist, and not overly sweet, with the rich notes of butter and cream underlying the delicious texture of the cake itself, soft and fluffy, he took his time before swallowing and taking another equally delicate and small bite. There was really no rush to this, to this pure indulgence and enjoyment, and he was determined to have it last as long as he could possibly have it. The fresh fruit, too, a delightful companion to the cake, its simple sweetness a new note to his taste buds, an interesting addition, seamlessly and effortlessly complementing the confectionery. He moaned again, softly, licking the cream from his lips, the sight almost obscene and ridiculous-

Gregory Lestrade couldn't close his mouth.

How could he, when he was sitting opposite his lover, fork paused midair above his own slice of cake, forgotten when the first moan had come from Mycroft, soft and breathy and oh so illegal. After that, it was impossible to not watch him, Lestrade sitting transfixed as the british government cut another piece from the cake, and lifted it to his lips, watched him take a bite, his eyes closed in bliss, issuing yet another breathy moan... 

What would it be like to have Mycroft's attention riveted on him like that? Terrifying, the working part of his mind supplied. Terrifying, intimidating, and so fucking hot. What won't he give, to hold Mycroft's attention like that, to know that nothing else would matter except for the both of them, to be pinned under that gaze, stripped to the very bone and flayed with that raw unbridled emotion that he glimpsed in Mycroft's eyes, to know that he was the one who could bring Mycroft into such a state when no one else could coax him out his stiff, impeccably polite and highly controlled self? Him, D.I Lestrade of Scotland Yard, Gregory Lestrade and not a damned piece of cake? He swallowed audibly, watching Mycroft lick his fork in shameless abandon before looking down at his own piece of cake, and set his fork down.

No matter, he decided, since he would be sticking around for much longer than the cake would. He would enjoy his lover's obvious pleasure to cake for now, and later, teach him another way of enjoying it, preferably in the bedroom, without clothes, and no forks either. His cock twitched, hard and uncomfortable in his pants, but he would wait, he would summon the patience in him to wait until Mycroft was done, and his plate licked sparkling clean.

After all, when it came to cake and Lestrade, Lestrade would always win in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> What my beta wrote in skype ( she will never publish this and will have my head for this so its a secret between you and me now ):
> 
> Mycroft moaned. He sucked the utensil clean. His tongue flashed out to lick that little white stain on his lip.
> 
> Mycroft gave that throaty growl that made Greg hard, and want to back off at the same time. Greg blinked at Mycroft, "What-" 
> 
> "Out of the way, Gregory." 
> 
> "Mycroft-"
> 
> "I said, out of my way, Gregory Lestrade." Mycroft hissed. 
> 
> Greg shifted away, wary. You did what the Government said, or you were in crap up to your ears. 
> 
> "You are perfect." Mycroft let out a breathless sigh. 
> 
> "What the fu-" Greg turned, certain that stress had unhinged his lover.
> 
> "Shut up, Gregory." Mycroft was holding a fork, poised over a Blackforest cake. "Leave me in peace."


End file.
